


Shimmersilk

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant - Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, by which I mean, tros what tros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28043262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: It's never been in Leia's nature to gloat over a defeated enemy. But just this once, she's ready to try something new.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Carise Sindian
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Shimmersilk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



The gown Leia wears for her visit to Arkanis is pure white shimmersilk, so fine a sidelong look could tear it. The hem, neckline and sweeping bell sleeves have been painstakingly hand-encrusted with gemstones that refract light as she walks, creating an almost ripple-like effect on the ground around her. Her wrists and hands are heavy with authentic Alderaanian jewellery. If she were kidnapped by bandits today, they could probably get more by fencing her outfit than by holding her for ransom.

There’s no excuse for it. No excuse befitting Leia’s dignity, at least. As one of the first worlds to secede from the New Republic at the start of the First Order’s rise, Arkanis and its government deserve no special courtesy. Leia is here because they begged her to come – because, now that the First Order lies in ashes and the New Republic has once again become the dominant political power in the galaxy, Arkanis’s trade-driven economy is at the mercy of whatever vengeful tariffs its former friends in the Senate might impose. Her hosts wouldn’t dare object if she attended every meeting in a nightgown. No. Her reasons for the shimmersilk are so personal and petty that she hasn’t shared them with anyone, not even Threepio, who almost fried a circuit in his dither over the message her outfit might send.

‘Hello, Carise,’ she says, skirt flowing behind her as she descends the last step into the prison bunker. She didn’t even have to bribe the guards to get in. Arkanis’s interim leaders have been practically falling over themselves to prove they had nothing to do, really, Your High – er, General, with the disgraced First Order loyalists who preceded them in their roles.

The woman in the cell looks up. Defeat doesn’t suit her: the dark hair that used to gleam almost as bright as Leia’s jewels hangs dishevelled about her face. The gowns and cloaks that used to nearly rival Leia’s for quality have been replaced – no doubt against her will – with a rough prison jumpsuit. She doesn’t answer the greeting. Her face is full of hatred and humiliation, and it’s worth every last credit of the obscene sum Leia paid for her shimmersilk.

Leia has twice now liberated the galaxy from tyrannical rule. She’s built a permanent home for herself atop the moral high ground. If she wants to be petty, just for one evening, let anyone tell her she hasn’t earned the pleasure.

‘Ransolm sends his regards,’ she says, stepping closer to the force field around Carise’s cell. ‘He’s just received his formal exoneration, you know. He’s been tapped for a new term in the Senate, once we’re able to get the elections back up and running.’ If Ransolm intends to answer the tap, he hasn’t breathed a word of it to Leia. But the woman who had him framed for high treason to conceal her own crimes against the New Republic doesn’t need to know that.

‘Here to gloat, are you?’ Carise says. Her prison term hasn’t eroded the prim accent she always worked so hard to cultivate. ‘How very coarse. I’d have expected more gracious behaviour from a member of the Elder Houses.’

‘You always did put too much stock in that old-fashioned nonsense. Yes, of course I’ve come to gloat. You tried to ruin his life and mine. For the last few years, your complete success seemed almost inevitable. And yet here we are. When you daydreamed about meeting me in a prison, I imagine our positions were probably the other way around.’

‘Who says I ever daydreamed about you?’ says Carise, miserable and barely containing it. Her glare lingers a little too long on the artful drape of Leia’s gown and the jewels at her neckline. Her eyes have answered her own question, though she doesn’t seem to know it.

Leia has never needed Jedi tricks to read people’s hearts. Carise thinks she keeps hers hidden, even as she pins it to her sleeve like a fashionable brooch. She has always coveted what Leia has: her royal title, her reputation, her modest but historically priceless collection of Alderaanian trinkets. She coveted them so hard that somewhere along the way she started coveting Leia herself.

The gown flatters Leia’s figure and draws attention to her bust. That’s not why she chose it, but it’s a perk.

‘I’m sure you would have enjoyed having me at your mercy,’ she says. ‘You wouldn’t have hurt me, I know. After all, you are – or were – a descendant of the Elder Houses yourself. Perhaps you would have graciously allowed me to kneel before you. To kiss your feet. To kiss … other places.’

Leia takes one more step. The force field is so close, its static energy bristles in the fine hair on her arms. ‘Tell me, Carise,’ she says, in a smug, silky voice that she has never used before tonight and will likely never use again. ‘Given the reversal of our fortunes, will you kneel before me?’

As tears of fury leak down Carise’s cheeks, they look rather like how Leia imagines her cunt looks: flushed dark with blood, and wet.


End file.
